


Memories And Other Mundane Things

by checkerbee



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Fix-It of Sorts, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkerbee/pseuds/checkerbee
Summary: He has memories, but not important ones, not ones that paint a picture of who he was outside of being a killer.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Memories And Other Mundane Things

**Author's Note:**

> *disrespectfully walks right over canon* 
> 
> Since the writers don't believe in nuance, I took it upon myself to write something better than what they've given us.

Revenant has been alone for a very long time. 

Even just counting the twenty-five years that he's been well and truly aware of his existence, that's still a long time by mortal standards. Before that, what was it? Decades, centuries? What archives he'd managed to pry out of the cold dead hands of Hammond pointed toward over three hundred and when he's feeling particularly melancholy, he wonders what his life was like before that. 

He has memories, but not important ones, not ones that paint a picture of who he was outside of being a killer. 

Did he have loved ones? People that looked for him for months, maybe years before coming to the conclusion that he was gone for good? Or did he just vanish one day, with no one to miss him or even notice his absence in their life? 

There's no real way for him to answer those questions and if he's honest with himself, he doesn't really care. Whatever relationships he'd had have been dead for centuries and any new ones he forms will either wither with time or come to an abrupt end when he finally puts an end to his existence. 

Still, this train of thought always eventually brings him back to thoughts of the Hunter. He wouldn't call what they had a relationship, especially not in terms of a healthy one, because neither of them had feelings for the other as far as he knew. Even if there was, they rarely interacted beyond fucking or murdering the other and despite his many, many faults, even he could recognize that there was nothing loving in that. Possession, pleasure, even affection, sure, but not love. 

So he wastes away time in the games while waiting for the girl to find his source code ( _again_ , and oh how he had wanted to rip her apart when she had gleefully told him that she'd _thrown it away_ instead of ending him like they both wanted) and digs his claws into Hound for the sake of anything to put an end to the mundanity of doing nothing for the first time in three hundred and thirteen years. 

Hammond's return to the Hunter's home world had offered something interesting, what with the opportunity it gave him to kill off a few employees when he felt the urge. And then there had been the whole fiasco of the other him, the shadow version that wasted his time being the king of an empty, dead world. How boring that must have been, he thinks as he watches Hound climb the rocks leading up to his current perch. 

"You have hidden yourself well." They observe through the occasional puff of air and he is reminded of another interesting thing about them. Despite lingering issues with their lungs from their childhood accident and their fear of heights that they deny exists, they'll meet him here instead of asking him to come down for them. Where he would plant himself firmly, they yield to avoid a fight that need not exist and he's torn between finding the lack of confrontation dreadfully _boring_ or appreciating the break in the constant strife in his new life. 

He gets enough push back from the girl, wants to grind his teeth with how much she fills him the urge to break something, and they are the opposite. 

Maybe it's all that wisdom that leaks out of them like a self-help book?

"Maybe it's because I didn't want to be found." Still, when has he ever met someone _halfway_?

They snort, settle next to him but back far enough that they aren't looking over the edge of the cliff they now find themselves on. He wonders if they feel the urge to pull him away from that edge as well, if they would if he leaned too far forward and found nothing staring back at him. 

"So you're hiding then." They say, like they're confirming something, and he feels his body tense, feels his shoulders rise in defense before he can force them down. He hopes that the look he gives them is withering, but they only tilt their head in response, like they find him amusing. 

"You're quickly becoming just as trying as the girl." He warns. "Then again, you two seem awfully chummy lately." 

"There are a lot of similarities between us." 

He waits, then waits some more, but they do not elaborate. The silence stretches between them, turns grating as he attempts to burn a hole through their helmet with his gaze alone, tries to get some idea of what the fuck they mean. 

_"And?"_

"We both had something stolen from us that we can't get back." They pause and he nearly growls, threatens to pull their teeth if that'd be easier, but they cut him off. "She's trying to rebuild, but she refuses to let go of the past. Which is her right, even if that anger will burn out eventually. I can only warn her not to offer herself as fuel to its fire." 

"You should have offered to help her." 

"Do you wish for the end so much?" 

He turns his gaze away from them, locks it on the overgrown lizards wading through the water beyond the island. "I thought we were talking about her."

"And is your fate not intertwined with hers? She's attempting to force closure into her life and you want an end to your story just as much as she does." 

"Closure is just a pretty word for the gullible that believe that monsters can be killed." And even as he says it, the words taste bitter in his mouth, like something foul and dying. "The story doesn't end when the monster dies, it doesn't end when she wakes up in a cold sweat or when she has little snot-nosed children of her own and that monster becomes something to keep them in bed at night. _It doesn't end."_

"Not like you?" 

And there it is, that urge to feel something shatter into a million pieces within his hands. He feels it flood through him like a heatwave, pushes it down with an inhale that gets stuck in his chest and regurgitated as a frustrated snarl. 

"When I first woke up, I had memories. They weren't pleasant, but they were mine." Even as he says it, it feels like he's snapping his own ribs to dig into his chest and pull out a heart that doesn't exist, like a special kind of agony that leaves him feeling hollow. "It's been twenty-five years and most of them are gone. What happens in thirty, in a hundred? What happens when I can no longer wake up and remind myself of my own name?" 

"Then I will remind you." They say as if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

"Your mind will be long gone before mine is." He points out, drags himself back to them just a little, away from that edge with nothing staring back. 

"Then," They draw the word out like he's a particularly difficult child. "I will keep a record of what you tell me. It can be only what you remember of your past or you can add new memories over time, but there is no reason to let yourself be lost entirely." 

"And after?" 

This time the tilt of their head is a curious thing, as if they're genuinely confused, and he resists the urge to hold his tongue when they ask, "After what?"

"Who's going to keep the records once you're gone?" 

He doesn't expect them to laugh, but they do and it is a wild, joyous sound. He wishes he could smile in response, could show them how their laugh makes his chest go tight and warm. 

"Keep them yourself. Or don't, whatever you want to do with your story is up to you." 

He mulls that over, considers the idea of keeping a part of himself alive even after his source code is eventually found. Maybe there's a reason that only his more awful memories are the ones that stayed, maybe it's better that all of him gets lost to time and the story ends when the monster dies. 

Maybe he deserves to see nothing staring back at him, he thinks, but is it so wrong to leave something behind and know that he won't be forgotten entirely?

"Kaleb." 

"I'm sorry?" 

He huffs, shifts further back until they're almost side by side, moves away from the edge of the cliff now that he knows that they'll pull him back should he ever slip.

"My name is Kaleb Cross. That's where you can start." 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? ✨


End file.
